


Rapture in the Maw

by Sentionaut



Category: Dark Souls III
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-08-12 03:39:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7919104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sentionaut/pseuds/Sentionaut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anri continues on her quest to find Aldrich of the Deep, before more is irrevocably lost. A tale of meetings, betrayals, and consequence thereof.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Intro

Much time had passed, though it was difficult to judge truly. Such reckoning was hazy at best, minutes seemed an eternity when there was but void for company. Everything was diminished here, hope, patience, and perhaps most pressing, supplies. Dwindled, used up, nowhere near enough to justify pressing forward, alone.

Yet, the trail left behind was long and winding, glittering ever so faintly now. Worse than incomplete, it ended abruptly at the edge of an impasse, nothing left of the bridge once spanning it.

A gloved hand clutched tightly at the pouch that once held dozens of the luminous pebbles, the small leather bag spent. Silently, she retied the pouch to her belt and stood back to her full height, sore from resting in the same position against the cold stone of the cavern.

"You haven't abandoned me, not after so long." Her voice sounded small to her ears, muddled in the confines of her helm. "May the flames guide you Horace, wherever you might be," she whispered, the mantra bolstering her own resolve as she took up her sheathed blade. The journey ahead would be all the more difficult on her own, but the thought of the demon's trail growing ever colder left her all the more anxious.

Clad in her much cherished armor, the self-proclaimed knight moved once more, pressing forward up the steps carved from dusty rock. There was little to do but head onward, as the little doll did bid. She had come across no other exit to the cursed tomb, so the land she sought must lie beyond. Besides, she'd had her fill of skeletons. She had no doubts that the clack of dry bones and grinning skulls would certainly visit her dreams when next she slept, an unwelcome prospect indeed.


	2. Bridge to Irithyll

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Compiled for flow of narrative.

Tiny tongues of fire licked at the twisted coil of metal as Anri warmed herself. Clad as she was, the layers did precious little to ward off the chill in the air. She suppressed a shiver, huddling closer to the bonfire, embracing the moment of respite it offered.

All around, white wisps of snow floated carefree, heedless of the storm they heralded. Or perhaps, it had since passed, and this was a fortunate calm. Of the two, the knight preferred the latter.

The way out of the catacombs had been barred, but not impenetrable. Mere crypt walkers, simple skeletons, she scoffed at her prior naivety, had been pleasant in comparison. Wolnir, the soul she'd claimed whispered to her, an old name lost to the dark. Best to pay it no heed, let the crackle of fire drown it out, she decided.

Her fight with the dread spirit had taken its toll, both physically and mentally, but she had persevered. Had it not been quite so cold, she would have been tempted to rest longer, recuperate some of what she'd lost in the exchange of blades.

Anri's own sword came out the worse for wear, never intended to be used against more than yielding flesh, never mind the enchanted baubles worn by her erstwhile foe. Wolnir had clearly been a creature wrapped in the trappings of power perceived in splendor and station. Such things must have bound him to such a wretched existence, trapped between desire and fear.

There was a tale there, the soul she'd bundled away in her travelling kit begged to tell. The knight would not lend her ear, she'd seen what lay beyond Wolnir, the miasma of the Abyss, the dark that he'd sought to escape. Part of him had, she supposed. Hardly a second chance, given the circumstance.

The knight sighed, her breath coming out in a frosted cloud quickly diffused by the holes in her helm. Her partner had not caught up as she'd hoped. Perhaps there would be another chance, another bonfire to commiserate beside. For now, the cold sapped at her, and resting longer would only lessen her desire to move on.

Ahead, the Boreal valley stretched out toward the horizon. The doll had spoken true, the spires and rooftops of what could only be Irithyll dominated the night sky, effulgent and white against the swollen moon above. It was here that she'd been drawn, here the foul dregs had led. Aldrich was close, his presence a blight on the land. The all too familiar clutch of her gut was proof enough.

Leaving behind the refuge of the flames, Anri's sure footed gait carried her down into the valley, toward the bulwark of cut stone, a bridge the gate of which dwarfed the structures of the catacombs she'd nearly been trapped in. It would take more than an errant swing of her blade to bring down such an edifice, she marveled as her destination grew steadily closer.

At the bottom of the winding path, the lone knight found herself staring up at the gateway leading out to the bridge. The structure was sound, with no sign of the crumbling decay that had befallen Farron Keep. Here the air was dry, perhaps due to the weather, quite unlike the stagnant mire leading down into the crypt. Through the great archway, she could see the bridge and spires beyond, still as if the very city were holding its breath.

The long empty cobblestones past the archway gave her pause, only just so, before her boots echoed as she crossed the threshold. Just as her first steps brought her out onto the bridge proper, a small sound caught her attention from behind.

Anri spun, blade half drawn before she caught herself. A familiar silouette framed itself through the knight’s visor, enough to return the blade to its place with a soft click. The figure in question was leaning against the archway on the side facing the long walkway spanning the ravine below, easily hidden from view were one to be approaching the city from the cliffs above as Anri had.

“It was not my intention to startle you,” a woman’s voice addressed the knight from the shadows cast by the archway above. Stepping forward, the figure clad in highly polished plate revealed herself, one arm folded across the other.

“Sirris,” Anri said, some of the tension uncoiling from her shoulders as she gave a faint sigh of relief. The other woman’s armor glinted silver in the light of the moon, and it was nearly bright enough to divert the knight’s gaze.

“I’m remembered, I cannot say it doesn’t please,” the silver clad warrior nodded faintly, gossamer veil framing her face. “To think we would meet again,” Sirris said, the words catching as a thought plainly crossed her mind. “You’re alone,” her tone held an unspoken question. She hardly needed an answer as the knight shifted weight, looking distinctly uncomfortable in the short silence that followed.

Sirris closed her eyes for a moment, considering the implications. Sadly, none were difficult to surmise. “I see,” she said, perhaps intending to lift some of the other woman’s burden.

Anri turned away from the lustrous form, preferring for a moment to stare out across the landscape that stretched below the bridge. She put a hand on the thick stone railing, allowing herself to lean out ever so slightly, that she might lay eyes on what ran beneath. Where once a river might have flowed, there was only brackish water, brown and muddied. Hardly more than a marsh now, encircling a goodly portion of the city above. Dispiriting, to say the least.

“Horace is capable. I’ve trusted my back to him for as long as I can remember,” she began, allowing her gaze to lift toward the pale circle hanging in the sky. “The catacombs, that tomb, it was not what I expected,” her helm shook faintly from side to side as she spoke. “There were traps, likely to dispense with those seeking to steal from the dead. I must have set one off in my haste, and we were separated before I realized,” Anri’s tone wavered, the incident far too fresh in her memory.

“And, you made your way out of that place,” the silver clad warrior prompted, taking a step toward the knight who was clearly elsewhere at the moment.

“I waited, left the stones as we’d agreed,” her voice hinted at just what she thought of her own actions. “This isn’t the first time we’ve been split from one another,” Anri sighed, striking the stone railing with a balled up fist. The blow was impotent, an unsuitable target for the anger directed mostly at herself.

“Then he’s returned before, and could likely do so again. As you have said, your companion is no less skillful than yourself. I’ve heard of your travels, Anri of Astora, and if they are half as true, your worries may well be unfounded,” Sirris spoke firm in her reassurance. It was true enough, word of the duo had certainly grown in recent weeks, and there was no less trustworthy source than one’s own kin.

The knight let out a drawn breath, “Would that be so, I can only pray,” she said, putting her attention firmly back on the present and what she had come all this way to accomplish. She stretched out a hand toward the far side of the bridge, and Irithyll beyond, “Aldrich is there, and I mean to end his wretched existence,” sheer conviction hanging like a weight on each word.

“Set yourself against a beast fouler than most,” Sirris said, resting her hand on the pommel of the short blade at her hip. “I’ve similar work to finish here. Perhaps our meeting is fortune. The man-eater is not the only repugnant soul to come from that cursed chapel. Our goals seem to have aligned,” she offered the ghost of a smile, “If we were to offer assistance to one another, the tasks would be less, daunting,” she proposed.

Anri said nothing for a moment, then gave a single nod. “You know my course, but I would hear of yours before deciding the first to settle.”

“Of course,” Sirris began, as the two started out across toward the far side of the crossing.

“As you are familiar with Aldrich, I can only think the cathedral itself would be known to you,” the silver clad woman said as they neared the first stone lantern that marked a third of the distance across the bridge.

The knight affirmed Sirris’ notion, without further elaboration, speaking a simple ‘yes.’

“Aside from what remains of the clergy, there is a woman dwelling there. Her influence is not inconsiderable, secured with dark promises best left unheeded. It is her, and her ilk, which have proved troublesome of late. Vile scoundrels the lot of them, preying on the unwary and vigilant both. Loathsome fools made beasts by the bloody offerings they seek,” Sirris scowled at the recollections unwittingly dredged up.

“I’ve been tasked with curbing the worst of the lot, and settling the matter with the abomination that drives them to such despicable acts.”

Anri walked just ahead of the other woman, listening in earnest, even as a faint shimmer in the air caught her attention up ahead. She could just make out the edge of what appeared to be a plaza past the end of the bridge, but it was indistinct, the haze rendering the landscape nearly a blur. “Sirris,” she interrupted, “Do you see that?”

“Ah, this is your first time to Irithyll,” came the veiled woman’s response. “That wrinkle, is a bar to entry into the city. At least to those not granted favor by the one who fancies himself lord of this domain. Sirris took out a tiny figurine, one quite familiar to the knight.

“That doll, it’s like to the one we found in the heart of the Cathedral,” the shorter woman said, producing the item she had in mind. It was a figure of a squire, standing tall with his sword held point down toward his feet, clutched solemnly. A sharp crescent moon hung above his head, all resplendent in silver. It was true that the one she held was quite similar in appearance to the figure in Sirris’ hand. Save for Anri’s was broken, the crescent of the moon snapped off midway, whereas the warrior’s doll remained whole.

“There is no reason to worry over the barrier. Not with one of these,” she gave pause, reciting an adage she’d once heard spoken reverently, ‘Wherever you go, the moon still sets in Irithyll. Wherever you may be, Irithyll is your home.’” Sirris regarded the doll a moment longer before putting it carefully away. It had been difficult to come by, after all.

“Those words,” Anri blinked, “I’ve heard them before,” she glanced down at the doll she still held. They were the very same that had echoed in the silence after she’d pried the doll from the hand of Aldrich’s fallen faithful. She’d thought it her mind burdened, at the time. Horace hadn’t seemed to pay it notice when she’d asked after all.

The follower of the Moon tilted her head for a moment, lips parting in reply to Anri, when her attention snapped elsewhere.

Anri felt the disturbance that had caught the other woman’s attention. It was a subtle pressure that ran cold down the back of her neck, too strong to be dismissed as objection to the frigid air. Her hand was already closing around the hilt of her blade when the stones trembled underfoot, and a heavy impact struck the bridge from behind the pair.

Almost as one, Sirris and Anri drew steel, turning to face the perceived threat. Anri felt herself taking a single step backward, even as she brought her shield to bear. “A wolf,” she whispered, “No,” her eyes widened as she beheld the sheer size of the beast that had dropped down from the heavens, landing squarely on all fours on the bridge, towering over the pair.

“Such thing is no wolf,” Sirris scowled, leveling her short blade at the giant beast’s muzzle. “And no mere beast,” she said, putting distance between herself and the knight. Facing a foe that nearly spanned the width of the bridge with its body, she felt no desire to call its attention easily to one spot. Their entrance into the frozen city would not go uncontested, nor unnoticed, though there had been that small hope.

For now, they could but deal with the trouble at hand.


	3. The Beast and Barrier

Snarling, the creature opened its jaws and roared. Anri tensed, ready to spring aside should the thing single her out. Even meters away, she could count the individual teeth lining the beast’s mouth in twin rows, should she care to. Its breath was foetid, and stank of meat gone sour. Though the thing had appeared wolf-like on first glance, she could judge Sirris’ assertion too true. For the belly of the beast was ragged and wet. What she’d first taken to be a gaping wound was all the worse the more she saw of it, spines reminiscent of fangs protruded where ribs ought be.

There was no time to appreciate the oddities that formed her foe, Anri realized, as the beast lunged forward, gnashing its teeth in an effort to catch one of the armored women in between. It was horribly quick for so large a creature, had she been caught unaware it surely would have snared her.

Anri’s evasive roll brought her toward the towering hindquarters of the beast, and she made that momentary advantage work in her favor, her blade drawing a long bloody line through fur and flesh as the beast’s momentum carried it past. A shallow wound, she saw, coiling herself for another slash at the haunches left exposed to her as the snarling thing focused its attentions on the glint of silver rather than Anri’s own scuffed and dulled armor.

“Wretched thrall,” Anri heard Sirris shout over the thunder of the beast’s footfalls on the stonework. Her blows rained down, gray fur beneath the blade soon matted with the spatter of blood. Her attentions did not go unnoticed, as the beast whirled, snapping and foaming, wretched breath washing over the knight as she tumbled out of the way. Or so she’d intended, but one of the fangs jutting from the thing’s obscene underbelly caught her shield, nearly wrenching it from her hand. The heavy blow sent her sprawling, metal shrieking against stone as Anri slid nearly flipped over on her side.

Sirris must have spared her some attention, because the knight heard her name being called in warning. So, she struggled to move, sliding ungainly across the ground, pushing off with a scrape of her shield arm, desperate to regain her feet. There was a sickening crunch, far too loud and too close, sickly breath steaming in the frigid valley air, washing over her.

Anri’s hasty scramble had done just enough, pulling her legs from harm’s way as the beast’s bony muzzle cracked against the bridge where she’d first fallen. Warding it away with a wide swing, the knight nearly bit her tongue in desperation to give herself a chance to stand. Her foe shook its large head in an odd fashion, possibly dazed from the impact. It was enough to give her the time she needed. “While it’s turned,” she shouted, words nearly catching in her throat as she readied herself once more.

“I have its back,” Sirris called out, circling around to cut at the legs that the knight had been harrying. Her own blade was ill-suited to this task, meant for opponents of similar proportions to her own, but it was sharp and that would have to be enough. She need only slow the beast, hamper its mobility. The short blade flashed, cutting tendon and ligament with abandon.

Writhing, the chimeric monstrosity howled, shaking off self-inflicted stupor, blinking sets of eyes to focus on the knight standing before it. The thing kicked its hind leg in frustration, even as it snarled and lashed out in Anri’s direction. The mouthful of fangs was blunted by Anri’s shield, the blow driving her backwards but not toppling her now that she was braced. Heels digging into the cobblestones, she kept her footing, and stabbed out from behind the bulwark of her shield.

The long straight blade glanced off the hardened carapace of bone that covered the beast’s head on the first strike, but scored a hit into one of the smaller trio of eyes. Partially blinded, the creature attempted to sidle around Anri’s defenses, though it stumbled instead, hampered by the vicious work of Sirris’ short sword. Quickly, the tide was turning in favor of the two warriors.

At least, that was the impression that Anri had, before the hairs on her neck began standing, and the hair that had been sweat plastered in her helm. The noxious odor of wolf breath was suddenly dampened, a curious scent that recalled rain and thunderstorms echoing in the halls of the Cathedral, memories stirred up of a quashed youth. The air around the beast’s muzzle warped and wavered, growing bright within its gullet as that fanged hole swelled wide before Anri’s eyes. Her shield wouldn’t be enough to turn away what was coming, she could feel that in her bones.

Bolts of brilliantly blinding golden haze sizzled out from the beast’s gullet, slamming into Anri and blowing past her raised barrier. The discharge was heavy, driving her writhing to her knees. Teeth grit in a haze of pain, she fought bodily to keep her mind anchored to the present. It would be easy to drift, away from the vicious present, but the easy path was not what she’d chosen. Hers was a hard, wretched lot, and she would see it to the end proper.

Fighting the rigor that threatened to lock her limbs, the knight forced her arm forward, through the agony that seized her, sword pointing true. The metal of her blade was still throwing off sparks as it pierced the soft palate of the beast’s mouth. Anri was tossed aside as the beast thrashed in pain, surely greater than what wore at the knight. Sent sprawling, she could only look on as the warped wolf reared back on its tortured hind legs, exposing a dripping underbelly, and a pained mouth open to the starry sky. “Sirris,” she yelled, mustering her voice, cracked though it was. “My blade,” her words fell limp, the treasured weapon stuck in the craw of the monster, quite out of reach.

The silver armored woman had escaped the brunt of the magical lightning, shielded by the beast’s own frame at the time. With her foe bent nearly backward, writhing in its own agony, she dashed around to its exposed stomach, her target softer and fleshier than she might have cared to see. “I prefer not to sully my sword so,” Sirris brushed a cloth talisman down the length of her sword, a shimmering violet light spreading across the surface of the metal as her hand passed over.

“My Captain sends her warmest regards,” she said as the glowing blade plunged into the exposed flesh of the beast. The blow was sound, driving nearly to her armored elbow deep in the now bloody crevasse as the magically enhanced weapon tore through muscle and tissue alike. Pushing with all her weight, she drove the beast completely over, where it thrashed on its back, writhing on the freezing stones. To her disgust, the twisted wolf clasped its forelegs, holding them up in prayer as it lay bleeding and wracked with pain.

Behind the woman from the Sunless realms, Anri rose, flexing her stiff hands and moving to retrieve her sword. Pulling it free after a careful attempt, she stared down at the creature, no less imposing for all its entreaties. “It would be best you go unanswered, for our sake,” she said, driving her blade into the beast’s bared throat.

“We’ve been announced, I’m sure,” Sirris spoke, sighing at the ordeal. It was hardly a surprise really, not when Sulyvahn’s grip had crushed the city since long before. “Does this sway your decision? The city will prepare no less a welcome should we press on.” She wiped her sword clean on the beast’s coat before sheathing the blade once the violet glimmer safely faded.

Anri’s helm fixed the silvered woman with its blank gaze, yet a firm resolve echoed from within. “I’ve come this far, of my own accord,” her shoulders drew back as she stood taller. “There is little reason to stray my course now. If I am to meet Horace again before this labor runs its course, it will be there,” she pointed up toward the towers that loomed over the city beyond. “I would see him again, at the very least,” she said, pausing to regard her current partner. “And your business, I’ve promised my aid, and I mean to honor it, once you’ve laid the task bare.”

The shadow of a smile passed Sirris’ lips as she nodded at the knight’s words. “It would carry us from these lands, back to Lothric, though not the city proper. My business lies within the tenements at the base of the High Wall,” she said with a heavy air. It was a long distance from the valley to be sure. Though there were certain roads that could lessen the pains of travel, provided one had the means to spare.

The drop of Anri’s shoulders conveyed enough sentiment for Sirris to continue, “There is also matters here that require my attention, the followers of that woman dwelling in the Cathedral. I’ve been following the trail of such a one, to this place. There is little to suggest I was led astray, and I would see that trail stray no further with your aid.”

Taking those words into consideration, Anri nodded, “Then, we’ll see to this fiend of yours, and after Aldrich is dealt with, we shall find our way back to that forsaken town, agreed?

“We are aligned then,” Sirris said, before frowning. “Perhaps we should head onward,” her nose crinkled, “I would rather not bathe in this stench any longer,” she said, putting distance between herself and the felled beast that was slowly fading into motes of light, whatever foul magics binding its existence to this place already beginning to fade. The rotten smell however, chose to linger, unaffected by the disintegrating corpse.

“And of like mind,” Anri said, taking out the tiny figurine that would allow her to enter into Irithyll proper at the end of the bridge. She followed after the shorter woman, who strode with renewed vigor toward the shimmering barrier and the wide courtyard beyond.


End file.
